


White Wings

by HipHopAnonymous



Series: Ineffable Wives Zine [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fanart, Gen, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Mild Holy Water Angst, Mild Language, Mild Peril, Old West, Other, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: Years after their disagreement over procuring holy water, Aziraphale and Crowley cross paths in the American Wild West. Aziraphale is still prickly, but willing to lend Crowley a hand with a temptation. Unfortunately, things go south quickly, and they find themselves in over their heads.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Wives Zine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934902
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: ineffable wives or female presenting





	White Wings

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fic for the [Ineffable Wives Zine](https://twitter.com/ineffablewives_)!
> 
> Here's a link to [Micah's](https://twitter.com/micahbuluhanart) wonderful art that goes with the fic <3 [Wild West Wives!](https://twitter.com/micahbuluhanart/status/1309493919915192320?s=20)

“Shit!” Crowley cursed in a most unladylike manner, stomping around her room dressed only in her underthings. The simple black corset contrasted starkly with her pale, freckled skin. “Shit! Shit! _Shit!_ ” She hissed, tossing strings of pearls, gossamer scarfs, and feathered boas around the messy room willy-nilly in her rage.

Crowley was double booked. 

“How do they expect me to tempt a man to robbery at the same blessed time as spreading dissent at a town hall meeting?” she muttered to herself, flinging a boot hard against the foot of her bed. 

Her temper had been especially short these past thirty-odd years. Being alone was miserable business, but if Aziraphale didn’t want to ‘fraternize’ then what choice did she have? _Keep your damn holy water. Who needs it anyway?_ She was glad to have been sent halfway across the world. Really. The Americans had multiplied and spread out west, a wild territory ripe for temptations, and the dusty heat suited Crowley’s snakey origins just fine. 

She scowled and glanced out the window, stopping short when she saw a familiar snowy head plodding down the road. It was the last person Crowley expected to see in this Podunk frontier town. _Well I’ll be._ The morning light caught around the woman’s white hair like a halo. Though her celestial aura was well-camouflaged to humans, Crowley would recognize it anywhere. 

Aziraphale’s frosty locks were neatly pinned. Her modest, cream dress was buttoned up to her neck, around which a tartan bandana was tied. Crowley grinned. She supposed an angel could only hide out in discreet London gentlemen’s clubs for so long before Heavenly duties called. This might be the answer to Crowley’s problem. That is, if Aziraphale wasn’t still cross. 

Only one way to find out.

* * *

“Didn’t reckon I’d see you around these parts, Angel.”

Aziraphale turned, hackles raised before she relaxed and frowned. “Oh, it’s you. Yes, well, wherever goeth evil, there I must follow.” She narrowed her eyes at Crowley. “The evil being _you_ , of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley chuckled indulgently.

Aziraphale resumed walking while Crowley scurried to keep up.

“I was wondering … that is … if the Arrangement is still on. I could use a favor this evening.”

Aziraphale sighed through her nose, lips pressed tightly together.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Crowley pressed. “Unless you’ve someone else to _fraternize_ with.”

Aziraphale grimaced at the unsubtle dig, stopping to look Crowley up and down. “You’re dressed like a harlot,” she said, gazing pointedly at Crowley’s décolletage. “Sakes alive, what are you asking me to do anyway?”

“Oy!” Crowley said, blushing. “It’s nothing like that! What do you take me for?”

“I take you for a demon,” Aziraphale said haughtily.

“Ok, fair enough. No, Angel, I’m not asking you to play a painted lady, for Sam Hill’s sake. It’s just a little dance hall work. Dance, flirt, and watch men get sluiced while gambling away their money.”

Aziraphale furrowed her brow, conflicted, her generous nature kicking in. “That’s really all?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Well … maybe. Who’s the mark?”

Crowley smiled. “A man named Alonzo. Need him to rob a bank. Shouldn’t be hard to tempt him. Just boost his confidence. Make the guy feel like a big enough man to go through with it. If we’re lucky, it should kick off a fabulous life of crime.”

“How dreadful.”

“But you’ll do it, won’t you? Please?” Crowley put her palms together and raised her eyebrows above her tiny sunglasses imploringly. Aziraphale wasn’t the only one who could make puppy dog eyes.

Aziraphale sighed. “That’s the Arrangement, isn’t it? Lend a hand when needed?”

“I was worried you might … ” _still be angry_ “... not be interested.”

“It’s only some flirting, right? And I owe you for …” her cheeks colored, “something, I’m sure.”

Relief flooded through Crowley. Even if they weren’t ready to talk about it, at least Aziraphale wasn’t too miffed to help. “Thank you, Angel, really. I owe ya!”

“Of course, it’s no problem at all.”

“Great! Meet me back here at half past five so I can get you ready.”

* * *

Aziraphale tugged at the plunging neckline of the dress Crowley had miracled up. “Are you certain this isn’t cut too low, my dear?”

Crowley batted her hands away. “You’re going to rip the fabric, quit fussing with it!” 

Aziraphale had no idea how so much lace and so many ruffles could somehow cover so little skin. The sleeves hit her arms below the shoulder and the fabric draped low across her chest, barely containing her full, heavy breasts stuffed into the fitted corset she wore underneath. The layered skirt was cut shorter in the front, nearly exposing where her stockings hit at mid-thigh. She wore a pair of brazenly small bloomers beneath her garter belt. Crowley had curled and pinned her hair up, leaving a few loose ringlets for, she claimed, a hint of debauchment. 

“Here,” Crowley knelt. “Let me fasten those garters for you.”

Crowley’s hands ghosted up Aziraphale’s thigh, and she held her breath, heart aflutter. Her skin tingled where the demon grazed it while clipping her stockings. By the time Crowley had finished buckling Aziraphale’s shoes, both were flushed, flustered, and barely able to maintain eye contact.

“And now,” Crowley had to clear her throat when her voice came out rather hoarse, “for the final touch …” She reached behind Aziraphale’s back, slipping into the celestial pocket where the angel’s wings were hidden away and plucked a single white feather.

“Ouch!” Aziraphale yelped. “Crowley! How rude!”

“Personal flair is important, Angel,” Crowley said, fluffing the downy plume before pinning it in Aziraphale’s hair. “Where'd you think I got mine?” she asked, giving the black feather atop her own head a flick.

Crowley guided Aziraphale to stand in front of the full-length mirror, and they both appraised her reflection. Aziraphale had to admit she looked the part. The soft blues and whites were starkly different from the dark reds and blacks of Crowley’s dress, but the costume was just as fetching on the angel’s ample curves. Crowley whistled appreciatively and Aziraphale’s heart went pitter-patter, her cheeks pinkening even darker than the rouge Crowley had applied.

“Should be easy to get Alonzo’s attention, looking like that.” Crowley sounded conflicted. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale said, blushing furiously and fussing with the indecently short skirt. “This isn’t my first temptation.”

“I’ll meet you after,” Crowley said, hopefully adding, “Buy you a drink?”

“Better make it two!”

* * *

The town hall meeting was dreadfully boring. All Crowley had to do was make a pointed comment now and then to stir up the crowd. Her mind kept drifting back to Aziraphale. The angel had looked so plump and delectable all dolled up. She was too tempting by far and sure to be popular at the saloon. It made Crowley’s blood boil. She ached to steal Aziraphale away for a good seeing to, but she pushed those namby-pamby thoughts away. After the holy water disagreement, the Arrangement wasn’t likely to involve _that_ sort of fraternizing anymore anyway.

Suddenly, Crowley’s nose was assaulted by the scent of evil. Hastur had appeared in the seat beside her, an absurd cowboy hat atop his festering head. 

“What are you doing here?” Crowley hissed.

“Realized you had two temptations at the same time. I suppose it was a wasted trip since it seems you’ve managed without my help.”

Crowley shrugged, trying to play it cool.

“So how was good old Alonzo?” Hastur asked, leering. “The scuttlebutt is he’s a right terror. Absolutely brutal. How’d you manage to slither away so soon, Crawly?” An icy terror crept down Crowley’s spine. “And unscathed, too. I hear he _always_ wants more than just a dance, and he can get rather forceful about it … hey! Where are you going?”

Crowley practically knocked her chair over as she leapt up, ignoring Hastur’s confused cries and the angry scowls from the townsfolk. Her ears rang, heart thrumming in her chest as she raced across town.

* * *

Aziraphale could almost enjoy being a saloon girl, even if the bar was terribly shabby. The cheerful music and revelry reminded her a bit of the Hundred Guineas Club. Learning to dance was already proving handy.

If only it weren’t for _Alonzo_. Aziraphale turned up her grace, flirting, bending forward in enticing ways, and tittering at every heavy-handed euphemism the revolting man made. The act was clearly working, because Alonzo kept crowding up against her, sour wet breath on her neck, hand frequently grazing her rump. The other men weren’t being nearly so brazen with the girls, but Aziraphale grit her teeth and focused on her task.

Even when Alonzo pulled her down onto his lap, pinning her in place with a firm grip around her waist, she kept her composure.

“Come now, you rogue!” she said lightly, batting her eyelashes, not making a fuss lest she botch an otherwise successful temptation.

“Relax, darlin’,” Alonzo slurred, breath reeking of cheap whiskey as he scraped his five o’clock shadow against her cheek. “We’re just having a little fun, ain’t we?” The more she struggled to escape, the harder he squeezed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her sides. 

“You’re hurting me, dearie,” she said, voice soft, but tight.

He ignored her, hand slipping beneath her skirt. If she made a scene and pissed him off, then it might ruin everything. She squirmed fruitlessly, panic rising up her throat. Suddenly there was a tremendous crack and glass shattering. Alonzo’s arms fell away as he slumped unconscious in the chair beneath her.

Crowley stood there panting, the neck of a broken whiskey bottle clutched in her hand. She barely remembered breaking it over Alonzo’s head after seeing that filthy degenerate laying hands on Aziraphale. Crowley had sensed his depraved desires and lewd thoughts; how much he wanted to ravish, abuse, and defile the angel.

_Not on this serpent’s watch._

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale by the wrist and wrenched her up. 

“You idiot!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “What were you thinking letting him —! For the love of … _somebody_ , how can you be so smart yet so stupid?”

“I was _only_ doing your job!” Aziraphale said indignantly, chin beginning to quiver. “I didn’t want to mess it up!”

Crowley gripped her firmly by the shoulders, “I don’t care a continental about the _damn_ temptation! You’re more important!”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled, “Oh, Crowley —”

_“Why you God forsaken, blasted wench!”_

Unfortunately, Alonzo was a sturdy brute not easily felled by one knock to the head. He shook the broken glass out of his hair as he stood, unsteady on his feet. Broad and tall, he towered over them.

“What in tarnation d’you hussies think you’re playing at?!” he roared, madder than an old wet hen.

The saloon had fallen eerily quiet, tension thick as everyone stared at Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Whaddya say, boys?” Alonzo asked, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. “Reckon we can tame two wild fillies as easy as one.” 

Several men chuckled darkly as they leered, closing in on the two women. Crowley could sense the lust and brutality coming off the crowd in waves. Someone lunged, grabbing Aziraphale by the arm, and Crowley socked the man so hard that he flew back, knocking two others down with him. 

He clutched his bloody nose, snarling, “What in Sam Hill?! You blasted Hellcat!”

Another one of Alonzo’s gang pounced and Crowley elbowed him in the jaw. 

A cowpoke from across the room shouted, “Hey! Leave the ladies alone, ya blowhards!” Apparently, some were ready to fight on the side of feminine honor.

Aziraphale yelped, and Crowley shoved a man away from the angel. Someone grabbed a fistful of Crowley’s ginger hair and yanked so hard her eyes watered. Enraged, she whipped around with the head of a giant black serpent, hissing, and spitting fangs at the one who dared ruin her coiffure.

The man screamed and reeled back, stumbling over a chair and landing flat on his backside. “A devil!” he shouted, face white as a sheet.

Then things went all higgledy-piggledy.

Crowley quickly changed back to human form, but the damage was done. Several men charged forward and grabbed her arms. Yet another man sucker punched one of those men, allowing Crowley to get a good swing in, delivering a hefty uppercut to the bastard squeezing her elbow. In the scuffle, her sunglasses were knocked from her face. 

Men were fighting all over the saloon. Glass shattered, chairs toppled, eyes were bruised and lips bloodied. The other saloon girls cowered behind the bar. Crowley kicked and clawed, yellow eyes darting around in desperate search for Aziraphale, but the angel was nowhere to be seen.

 _This is bad,_ Crowley thought, beginning to panic. How was she going to get out of this brawl without attracting too much attention from above or below? She couldn’t have their home offices poking around asking questions. If only Aziraphale had given Crowley the damn holy water.

Someone grabbed her by the throat. Human witnesses or not, it seemed she had no choice, so she allowed her demonic power to surge ...

A pure mezzo soprano rose in song, cutting through the melee. The acapella notes quavered slightly, but the pitch rang out strong and true.

“ _Sail! Home, as straight as an arrow. My yacht shoots along on the crest of thesea ..._"[1]

Silence swept over the room at once, everyone turning to look. Crowley’s jaw dropped. It was Aziraphale, standing on top of a table, clutching the bottom of her ruffled skirt in her fists, twisting the fabric nervously as she sang.

The honky-tonk pianist crawled out from where he’d been hiding beneath the bench. Rather miraculously, he recognized the tune and began to play. With the aid of accompaniment, Aziraphale’s voice steadied and she belted out with confidence. 

“ _I’ll spread out my white wings, and sail home to thee._ ”

It was no celestial harmony, but angel-song is always blessed. The melody certainly seemed to have a copacetic effect on the saloon. Men began to settle down, patting each other on the back and sheepishly righting felled chairs. 

Even those still grumbling became suitably distracted when what began as a ballad picked up tempo into a catchy little ditty. To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale began to _dance_. She lifted her skirt to scandalous heights, revealing her thighs while she pranced atop the table above the cowboys’ heads. The dance was skilled, her body moving enticingly as though she’d been performing all her life.

It was a fucking gavotte. Almost. Aziraphale had the good sense to sexy it up. So _that’s_ what the angel had been up to at that Portland Place club. Crowley had been quite certain it hadn’t been the … other things.

Everyone was distracted now. Goodwill and cheer were replacing discontent in the room. Even Alonzo shrugged and sat down to enjoy the show.

Crowley quickly adjusted her clothing, fixed her hair, and jumped up onto the table beside Aziraphale, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. The angel squeezed back and let Crowley take over the song in her own strong alto.

“ _Sail! Home, blue eyes and gold tresses,_

 _The fairest of all is my own little bride!_ ”

The Men cheered when Crowley snaked her arm around Aziraphale’s waist, and they began to dance together in time to the tinkling piano. Crowley led as they skipped quite magically from table to table, turning, twirling, and stomping overhead to the delight of the crowd who clapped and sang along.

However, they only had eyes for each other as they sang the final chorus in unison:

“ _White Wings, they never grow weary,_

_They carry me cheerily over the sea._

_Night! Comes, I long for my dearie,_

_I’ll spread out my white wings_

_And sail home to thee!_ ”

Crowley dipped Aziraphale low as the music came to an end. Rather caught up in the moment, she closed the short distance between them and pressed a kiss to the angel’s lips. The crowd erupted into applause, roaring in joy.

Crowley reluctantly pulled back to Aziraphale’s shocked wide eyes and parted lips. She tensed, half expecting a slap or rebuke.

But Aziraphale softened and smiled, fluttering her eyelashes. “How about that drink you promised me?”

A minor miracle later, and they skedaddled out the back door, leaving the fandango to continue behind. Crowley had the good sense to nick a bottle of top shelf liquor from the bar on the way.

Outside, she stole a horse and climbed into the saddle, pulling Aziraphale up in front. The angel balked at riding astride in a short dress, but Crowley wrapped her arms protectively around her, took the reins, and they rode off.

“ _White wings_ , huh?” Crowley asked. “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“I’ll show you ‘on the nose,’” Aziraphale growled, raising her fist in mock threat. “What the devil were you thinking, sending me to that bastard Alonzo?”

“I swear I didn’t know!”

Aziraphale hesitated. “I worried it might be … revenge.” She sounded so sad Crowley’s heart nearly broke. “For the holy water.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale into a tight hug. “Doesn’t matter how angry I get with you, Angel, I’d never put you in danger on purpose.”

Aziraphale sighed and relaxed. “I heard the song in New York. It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Quick thinking, clever girl.”

Aziraphale gave a contented wiggle in Crowley’s embrace, and couldn’t help but notice the persistent prodding at her backside.

“Still a serpent, I see,” she said, flushing.

“Save a horse ride a cowgirl?” Crowley japed, kissing Aziraphale’s ear.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale insisted, though it came out breathless. “Perhaps you could, um, explain it to me over that bottle of liquor you swiped?”

“I reckon that can be arranged, _white wings_!”

**Author's Note:**

> 1All lyrics taken from White Wings (1884). Words and music by Banks Winter. Published by Willis Woodward & Co. Listen to the song on [Youtube (White Wings Song)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vDjeQwjygw&list=PLD7y_XkLKDXo1c9Sm5j99lKfHNVPqX3QL&index=11).[return to text]
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HipHopAnonymou9)
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